A Pirate's Life for Me
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: In which Matthew is upset over the lack of born and bred Canadian pirates, Alfred makes things worse, and Arthur and Alfred decide to role-play as pirates to get back into Matthew's good graces. There is also a boat involved. US/UK/Canada threesome.
1. Chapter 1

Hi. I know I have unfinished fics. But, let me just say one word. ...THREESOME :DDDD. I wanted to so badly write a threesome fic between UK, US, and Canada with Canada as the center in this delicious sammich. But it kept coming out angsty. And I was like, I don't want angst right now (but expect it soontimes mayhaps). And, because my mind dances on tangents, pirates then came to mind. And I always did want to write a pirate fic so here is my attempt. PART 1 OF MY ATTEMPT. -dies in happiness-

Warnings: THREESOME, slash, historical inaccuracy, fail, OOC-ness, THREESOME, fail smut, language,

Pairing: US/CANADA/UK

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, Canada would not be able to sit ever. XD

* * *

"_I used to be a farmer, and I made a living fine. I had a little stretch of land along the CP line."_

Alfred paused in the doorway, his blue eyes taking in the site of his brother sulking on the couch, arms crossed, listening to the strangely familiar song blaring from the high-tech (and incredibly new and pricey) sound system Alfred had bought for Arthur (so that he could enjoy it whenever he was trapped at the Brit's house).

Matthew, dressed in a white, loose-fitting shirt with billowing sleeves and laces down his neck (which were only done partway and loosely, Alfred noted, licking his lips when he saw that pale sliver of skin) and warm brown breeches, was curled up on the couch, fiddling with an enormous tricorn hat with a fluffy scarlet feather.

"Everything cool, Mattie?"

"Yes." The northern nation muttered and Alfred had to strain his ears to hear his brother's whispery voice. "Everything is just fine and fucking dandy."

And then he went back to picking at the felt hat, lips pressed together into a pout.

"_I'm gonna be a pirate on the river Saskatchewan!_"

Alfred blinked. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"'Cause you look like you did that one time I accidently mailed your Boss a copy of your naughty Mountie calendar."

If anything, Matthew's face darkened and the temperature of the room plummeted.

Alfred laughed awkwardly when violet-blue eyes locked on him, a layer of ice coating the normally soft gaze. But, luckily Arthur storming into the room saved him.

"Are you still sulking Matthew?" He tutted, hands on his hips and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a scolding grandmother. "Honestly, poppet, I'm not saying you don't have what it takes to be the scourge of the seas…just that…"

"You're too nice and pretty to be scourge-worthy." Alfred interrupted, a million-watt grin on his face.

"You don't even know what we're talking about, git." Arthur snapped.

"No, no I don't. But when has that ever stopped me?"

The Englishman stopped to consider that, briefly, and then sighed, ignoring the superpower in favor of Matthew. "Listen, love, the pirate life isn't for everyone. You gave it a good shot. You did have pirates, my boy. Easton had nothing but kind words for you. And, perhaps it didn't go so well with Baker—"

"Hey, wasn't that the fail pirate who stole my ship?" Alfred cut in. "Dude, Phil was so _pissed_. He was practically chanting for that guy's death."

Arthur facepalmed.

Matthew looked downright murderous and then it all clicked in Alfred's pretty blond head.

"…Oh…_oh._" The American looked somewhat sheepish. "He was one of yours, wasn't—"

"You both can just sleep on the couch and have pirate sex together!" Matthew snarled, throwing down the flamboyant hat and stomping off, his errant curl bouncing erratically in front of his face.

"You ruin everything." The Brit said lowly, green eyes furious. "First you ruin this relationship by being a part of it—"

"Okay, ouch." Alfred winced. "First of all, last I checked, Artie, you wanted all of this." He gestured at himself, punctuating 'this' with a pointed pelvic thrust in the older nation's direction. "Secondly, if I remember correctly, your exact words during our last mattress mambo 'harder you sexy hunk of prime A American beef'."

"Actually, I believe my exact words were 'move, git'."

"Pft, you say raising taxes, I say cruel and unusual punishment."

"After I saved your ungrateful hide from that wine bastard—"

"Fine! See if I let you use my chest as a pillow tonight!"

"I don't want to use your chest as a bloody pillow, wanker." Arthur spat out. "And it's your fault we're on the couch! I was about to calm Matthew down—"

"You're probably the reason he was mad to begin with!"

Arthur shut his mouth quickly. Then, with a sigh, he moved and picked up the abandoned hat. "We were going through some old boxes." He began, fluffing the feather with gentle fingers. "Matthew found a box from my old privateer days." A nostalgic mist settled in his eyes. "He asked if he could wear some and I let him."

(He didn't mention the fact that the moment Matthew took off his shirt, Arthur was already there, pressing up against the younger nation and pinching his nipples and mouthing at his neck.)

"We started talking about those days. And he mentioned his pirates and…" The green-eyed nation trailed off, a vaguely guilty twist to his lips.

"…He had pirates?" Alfred asked, a golden eyebrow quirked. "Like more than one?"

"Well, they plundered in him." Arthur admitted quietly. "But they were as much his as mine." He sighed tiredly. "However, it's been so long…"

The hurt that had flickered across Matthew's face pricked at Arthur and the Englishman felt a renewed sense of guilt.

"Hey, Artie, you wouldn't happen to have an extra ship lying around?"

"Yes, of course." Arthur said dryly. "I happen to keep one in the boot of my car in case I have to sail to work."

"Ha-fucking-ha." Alfred rolled his eyes. "No, seriously, can you make some magic happen? I have an idea—"

"If it involves robots or whales—"

"—It doesn't anymore." The blond chuckled. "And it'll definitely get us off Mattie's Shit List."

"And how exactly?"

"Well, Mattie likes pirates. You were a pirate—"

"Privateer."

"And I wasn't too bad myself. Lets just show Matthew that he doesn't need to feel bad."

* * *

"Are you seeing this?" Willem asked, a little nervously, poised to place his pipe back in his mouth. "'Cause I tried some crazy shit last night and it could still be in my system."

Matthew, looking up from his notes on the meeting, just stared at where the Dutch nation was pointing. "_Crisse._" He muttered. "They're just rubbing it in now."

Outside the window, docked in the harbor of Copenhagen, was an authentic Elizabethan schooner, bobbing gently in the water, with a Jolly Roger fluttering happily in the breeze.

All the nations, inside the meeting room, were now staring out the window.

"Not again!" Spain suddenly wailed, diving under the table and slipping into frantic Spanish and Latin prayer as Romano just sighed and looked incredibly embarrassed.

Across the table, Portugal was grinning wildly.

Francis, on the other side of Willem, chuckled. "Someone is having a mid-life crisis." He noted smugly.

And with that, the doors were kicked open.

* * *

_Just before..._

"Artie, stop eyefucking your reflection." Alfred sniped, exasperated. "We have to go get our booty." He snickered. "Heh, booty."

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look. "Unless you want to be locked in the bilge and 'accidently' forgotten, I suggest you show some respect—"

"Avast me hearties! Shiver me timbers! Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!" Alfred exclaimed, adjusting his large hat with a brilliant blue plume off to his side. He tightened the dark sash around his waist and adjusted his cutlass (Arthur had very reluctantly let him carry one) before skipping out of the captain's quarters.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur couldn't help but let the other's excitement affect him. "We be gentlemen o'fortune today." He murmured, his smirk sharp like the edge of sword. He tipped back his tricorn, admiring himself once more in the mirror.

His scarlet waistcoat, flowing out after his hips, looked brand new (despite just having been pulled out of a trunk in his attic) and its golden buttons glimmered. With a quick adjustment of his snow-white cravat, the man turned on his heel (the wood creaking under his polished boots), his hand resting lightly on his pistol.

* * *

"Well, hello, hello." Arthur greeted darkly, his green eyes sharp under the brim of his hat.

The nations just stared at him, not quite sure if this was one big elaborate joke or if England was really back to his delinquent self.

The Englishman sauntered forward, his smirk sharpening when he heard an incredibly loud and anguished "_dios mio_" from under the table.

"Now, ye landlubbers have nothing to fear from us. Today." He added. "We're here for one thing and one thing only." His eyes came to rest on a certain blond nation. "The most precious treasure in all the seven seas." He murmured, eliciting a pale blush from his former charge. "Come along peacefully, then, wench and no harm will come to ye."

"Say it, say it, say it." He heard Alfred whisper excitedly from behind him.

Obligingly, the sandy-haired man bit back a sigh and added, "Savvy?"

"Someone is three sheets to the wind." A distinctly Scottish voice whispered loudly and Arthur's prominent brows twitched.

"Shut your gob, you son of a biscuit eater." He snapped, hand tightening around his pistol and trying really hard not to just shoot his bastard of an older brother lest he break character. "Or you'll be feeding the fish tonight."

Scotland looked like he wanted to argue some more, but a casual elbow from Wales silenced him.

"Will you come quietly, then, lad?" Arthur shifted his attention to Matthew who was watching him warily.

(The Canadian was still rather pissed.)

"And if I don't?" The younger nation asked airily, already turning around and treating his former guardian with the same amount of attention he'd give Alfred in full-blown tantrum mode.

"Then it seems you leave me no choice." Arthur answered. "Come give our new pet here a hand, mate." He commanded, not even glancing back at Alfred.

"Aye aye Cap'n!" Alfred said cheerfully, bouncing forward and, with a wide-grin, he effortlessly lifted Matthew up and slung him over his shoulder. The lack of difference in their heights made the gesture amusing and several nations had to cover their mouths to keep from laughing out loud (despite the snickers that escaped every so often).

And with that, the superpower—carrying a red-faced Matthew, who was already kicking the older nation—pranced out of the room, with Arthur following at a much more leisurely pace.

When the door shut behind them, silence reigned for a full minute.

"Did they really have to get us all involved in their foreplay?" Romano said loudly. "And get out from under there, moron." He rolled his eyes. "And put down the fucking flag Feliciano."

* * *

Yes, so there is a part 2 coming eventually (with THREESOME SMUT). I gave up for now because I'm sleepy. :I So the next part should be up by this weekend...if people want it.

By the way, I have been working up towards writing a threesome (because Canada needs all the love he can get). What inspired me? Winston-fucking-Churchill. No joke. Seriously, I was reading about how he viewed Canada as an important piece in Anglo-American relations. Of course, my mind read that as "threesome". See, I'll handle UK/US if Canada is there. Otherwise, I see no reason for my nation to get it on with Eyebrows McHugeEyebrowPants. -glares at England- I saw what you did there in history... I like to think both Al and Arthur wanted Canada and decided to share because Canada was like "I can get any piece of tail I want and when I want from whoever I want, bitches" and they both agreed "Yeah, no" and decided to have a lovely three-way relationship so Canada wouldn't go have sex with Prussia or something.

Cuz he totally would and could. Canadian history, baby -shot repeatedly-

I had a jar of nutella today and have a case of mountain dew. Its finals week. I'm not in the best mindframe.

But, regardless, how was this part?


	2. Chapter 2

Wowzers guys. Thanks so much for all the support. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to all the nice reviews you guys left, but I've been in a constant state of near-death and insanity. :| But thanks so much for understanding about exams and wishing me well. If I could, I'd bake you all cupcakes but for now, accept virtual cupcakes~

And this chapter :D

Warnings: THREESOME, fail, excessive use/fail of pirate-ology, language, sexual situations, OOC-ness

Pairing: US/Canada/UK

Disclaimer: Don't own, I merely borrow for my own amusement.

* * *

Alfred whistled cheerfully under his breath, some familiar tune that, thanks to the mood Matthew was in, he had no desire to hear (being slung over someone's shoulders like a sack of potatoes was not exactly his idea of fun).

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" The other sang brightly even as the other nation glowered.

The superpower had a tight grasp on his northern neighbor. Alfred's right arm was locked around the back of Matthew's knees so the other nation's chest was pressed uncomfortably against the other's sharp shoulder.

"I hate you so much." The Canadian muttered, his face bouncing against the other's back with each jaunty step the blond took. "Like so much….you don't even know."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred said dismissively, a touch of affection in his voice. "You tell me so all the time."

Behind them (or in front of Matthew, at least), Arthur chuckled lowly.

Straining his neck, Matthew finally glanced up from the street and the navy blue fabric of Alfred's breeches stretched taut across the back of his thighs and studied Arthur—all the way from his polished boots past the coal-black trousers to his crisp white shirt and matching cravat with the shining emerald brooch (that glinted with his eyes) to his captain's tri-cornered red hat and its ridiculously big feather that draped down to his shoulder and his flowing scarlet waistcoat with its golden brocade and buttons—who looked every bit the pirate lord he had once been in the days of his relative youth.

Feeling a frisson of desire tap dance up then back down his spine, the younger nation felt his cheeks heat up when those taunting green eyes locked on his face.

The Englishman, with a raffish, charming leer on his face, tilted his chin up slightly, allowing his hat to tip back and winked at his former colony. "Excited, poppet?" He practically purred.

Matthew, despite the brilliant flush on his face and neck and ears, scowled. "_Connard._"

Immediately, Alfred's hand swatted his behind (Nunavut, for its large size—he played hockey remember?), his fingers briefly squeezing one of the captive man's pert globes, his fingers digging in teasingly close to his crease), eliciting an indignant squawk from Mathew.

"Watch ye tongue, wench." The blond ordered coolly. "That be the dreaded Captain Kirkland, Terror of the Seven Seas, Lord of the Waves, and Master of thy Soul. If ye value thy life, silence thy sass."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

Arthur merely smiled benevolently. "Now, now. I'm sure the dear boy will learn his place soon." His voice held an undercurrent of darkness and Matthew shuddered at the sensuality of it. "Won't you, Matthew love?"

But Matthew, still a little bitter from before and acutely aware of the strange looks they were receiving from passing people, just sulked, muttering, "You're both mad."

* * *

Soon the trio boarded the sailing vessel, its refurbished wood creaking under their feet as it rocked gently in the near still water.

"How exactly were you able to pull this all off?" Matthew couldn't help but ask, curious.

"Called in a fuck-ton of favors and sold our souls to Scandinavia." Alfred muttered. "We're basically sailing from here to Sweden, shouldn't really take more than a few days." He gently let Matthew slide off and cradled the other man's face in his hands. "Thought you might like the…ride." He waggled his eyebrows and with a wink, slid his hands behind Matthew's head and pushed him closer for a kiss. "Since Arthur was—and still is, bee-tee-dubs—a douche and never took you sailing." He dropped a kiss onto the point of Matthew's nose. "And because you never got the full pirate experience."

Before Matthew could start bitching again (and, man, could he go on for hours), Alfred quickly captured his lips in a kiss and slipped his tongue past barely open lips, already flicking teasingly against the other's. He tightened his grip on the other nation, letting his arms slip down so that they were lax around Matthew's waist, one hand splayed possessively on Nunavut.

When he finally pulled away, he couldn't hold back a pleased smirk at the sight of Matthew—lips bruised red and glistening and a vaguely frustrated glare behind all that pink painted across his face.

Unfortunately, Alfred couldn't continue to admire the other blond because a large hand suddenly shoved his face back, causing the superpower to stumble away from his brother.

"And that is quite enough of that. Get the holystone and start swabbin' the deck, ya scurvy swab." Arthur said primly, tossing a glare over his shoulder as he took Alfred's place. Then, with a charming smile at Matthew, the former buccaneer offered his arm. "Mr. Williams?"

"Oh so we're back in character now?" Alfred asked snidely, under his breath. Then his blue eyes widened and he added, indignantly, "I'm swab?"

"What else would you be on my ship?" The Brit sneered.

"First mate!"

Arthur snorted indelicately. "Not even in ye dreams, ya daft git."

"…Can I be first mate?" Matthew interrupted, violet eyes trained on Arthur.

Both men looked over at him, trying very hard to seem like they hadn't forgotten he was standing there.

Matthew decided to overlook it, if Arthur made him first mate.

"Aw, but we were gonna throw you in the bilge and shackle you to the wall and then do some really kinky shit to you." The American explained. "You're our prisoner. You're supposed to fight and struggle and give us a reason to lock you up but because you're so pretty, we were just gonna have sex of dubious content until you admitted to enjoying it then we were just gonna leave you naked in our quarters to serve us. That's how its supposed to go."

Arthur and Matthew just stared at him.

"Have you been reading fan fiction again?" Matthew asked, disapprovingly. When the other blond blushed, the Canadian sighed.

"For the love of the Queen." Arthur swore, massaging his forehead, eyes screwed shut. "Get out of my sight before I throw you overboard."

When Alfred finally stomped away, Matthew turned to his former guardian.

"Sex of dubious consent?" He questioned, raising a slender brow. "Naked in your quarters? And you call Francis a pervert." He scolded, before a positively wicked and completely French grin twisted his lips. "Tell you what." He teased, leaning closer. "You let me be first mate and I'll _serve_ you in any way you want." He purred.

"Even better, you can be quartermaster." Arthur replied (mind already whirring with ideas) without a moment's hesitance, immediately finding his arms full with a very pleased Canadian.

"Do I get to wear a costume too?" He asked excitedly, arms around Arthur's neck (despite being at least an inch or so taller).

"They're not costumes. They are authentic articles of clothing—"

Matthew, more excited about the prospect of _finally_ being a proper pirate, rolled his eyes and pointedly grinded against Arthur, his bright eyes hooded.

Arthur's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Come along then, poppet. Let's get you into the real spirit of things."

* * *

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Alfred muttered heatedly, scrubbing away viciously at the deck. "Making me swab. Okay, so it would be really fair and stuff to make Mattie first mate but swab? I could be master gunner or at least a sailor. Stupid jerk making me stay here and clean while he's off sexing up Mattie."

Suddenly, the superpower sat up, ramrod straight, as an epiphany crashed into his face like a Prius smashing into a semi-truck.

"I don't actually have to do this." He said slowly. "He can't _make _me. He hasn't been able to make me do anything for over two centuries." His Pacific blue eyes narrowed as he threw down the holystone.

* * *

"Hah! I knew it!" Alfred crowed after he kicked down the door to the Captain's Quarters.

He pointed excitedly at Arthur—in just his breeches and frilled white shirt—and Matthew…who…was wearing black breeches and a snow-white shirt with a scarlet sash around his waist.

"You're not doing anything." He observed. "I thought we were going to have our wicked way with Matt."

"We set sail first." Arthur snapped, leaning against the bolted down wooden desk in his room, his arms crossed across his chest.

Matthew fiddled with a bit of lace at his collar. "How exactly are we going to do that? We don't have a crew."

"Yeah, where are those guys Artie? They should be here by now."

"Davy Jones could never be bothered about punctuality unless there was a shipwreck or some rot." Arthur muttered, pushing away from the desk and slipping on his waistcoat.

"Dave Jones?" Matthew asked, incredulously. "As in _the_ Davy Jones?"

"Of course. The wanker owes me." The Englishman shrugged, picking a bit of lint off his sleeve.

"Wait an American second!" Alfred interrupted, suddenly looking incredibly pale. "Davy Jones is our crew?" He mimicked tentacles under his chin by wiggling his fingers.

"No, he's providing our crew." Arthur said impatiently. "And he didn't quite like that description of him in your film. Besides, we're just borrowing his souls for a few days, its not as though they're doing much of consequence in these times."

"You're crewing our ship with ghosts?" Alfred's voice trailed off into a squeak. "Half-fish, slimy invisible ghost people?"

"Think of it more as the lost souls of sailors and privateers who long for the opportunity to smell that salty sea air once more." Arthur said, wistfully, holding his hat against his heart. "Good men. Decent men. I sailed with all of them."

"You're filling our ship with dead, former pirates." Matthew stated, feeling as shocked as Alfred looked.

"_Privateers._" Arthur stressed. "Sweet Bess sanctioned us with her blessed hand."

When Matthew and Alfred didn't look any less terrified, he continued with a huff, "Honestly, you boys never would've survived before the 17th century."

* * *

Much to Alfred's terror and Matthew's eventual delight, they set off within the hour (after a very ominous rocking and a sudden chill that had Arthur peeking back into the room with a wide grin, "Off we go, chaps.")

It wasn't, by any means, a truly authentic experience. They had fairly modern amenities (none of their government officials allowed to let them go without all the bells and whistles to prevent any harm. Funny story, Stephen Harper had argued the loudest because he thought England and America would end up losing his nation somewhere halfway through the voyage and had demanded that they put some sort of tracking device on the boat and shoes of the adventuring countries. Even funnier, neither President Obama or Prime Minister Cameron disagreed—apparently they had little faith in their nations' ability to remember the third part of their ménage à trois and also because they wanted to be able to find their nations in case they did some stupid.). They weren't going on a month's long voyage (no Boss approved that no matter how much Alfred tried to convince them of the epicness of such a venture). And Arthur was not allowed, in any shape or form, to go after other ships (even if they were Spanish) and steal their cargo—no matter how much he missed the good old days.

But Matthew was happier than he had been since the argument. He skipped about the ship, talking with the ghosts (since he had the uncanny ability to sense where they were), but spent the most time on the quarterdeck where he chatted with the apparition in charge of steering. Eventually he managed to win over the gruff spirit and was soon behind the helm with a bright smile.

Arthur, who was on the main deck, casually barking out orders every so often (just for show, really, the men knew what to do), watched the Canadian affectionately.

And Alfred? Well, he was still quivering but at least he was quivering in the crow's nest where there were no ghosts.

* * *

That night, when the trio retired to the Captain's cabin, they were barely a few steps in after the door shut when Matthew threw himself at Arthur and kissed him full on the mouth.

"I love you." He murmured dreamily, nuzzling the other's jaw-line, already pulling off the other's cravat and loosening his collar.

"And I, you." Arthur said, equally quietly, tucking back a loose strand of golden hair behind Matthew's ear. "Pity you were just a chit back then. A fine swashbuckler you would've been."

"Hey! Where's my love and kiss?" Alfred called out from behind them, already tearing off his boots. "This was my idea after all."

Glancing over his shoulder, Matthew gave the other blond a smile. "Oh, you'll get yours, Al." He said softly, pulling away from Arthur and stepping lightly towards his brother.

Allowing Alfred to pull off his shirt and loosen his breeches and pull off his boots, the Canadian subtly pushed back, sending them both tumbling onto the plush bed. With a laugh, Alfred quickly rolled Matthew over and kneeled over him, peppering kisses onto the other's face and neck and smiling mouth. Then, sitting back on his heels, the superpower shucked off his white and red striped shirt after tossing his feathered hat behind him.

(I'd like to point out here, that, Alfred was wearing the most mismatched clothing.)

Matthew, pushing himself onto his elbows, watched as each inch of sun-tanned skin was revealed.

Arthur watched the proceedings with interest, already pouring himself a bit of rum, green eyes sharp as Matthew and Alfred began to kiss again, Matthew's fingers tangled in short, golden hair as his near twin devoured his willing mouth, the moonlight which streamed through the window fragmenting off their twisting bodies.

Feeling his own member come to life, Arthur set down the glass with a sharp _clink_ and sauntered over to the bed, ready to join his lovers in their play. Alfred, seeing the other's approach from the corner of his eye, scooted up and back, pulling Matthew along with him so that Arthur could slip behind the northern nation. Immediately, Arthur snuck his hand down to the front of Matthew's breeches and palmed the other's clothed crotch firmly, even as Alfred was already nipping sharply at Matthew's pale neck.

Moaning softly, Matthew whispered, his eyes fluttering shut, "You two are teaming up against me?"

"Just enjoying our booty." Alfred teased, his lips moving against Matthew's skin, before he bit down on the tendon in curve where the shoulder met the neck.

Gasping, Matthew writhed against Arthur, his head falling back against the Brit's shoulder. "N-not fair…" he whined, straining further when Alfred licked the area apologetically.

"Pirate." Alfred then said, not so apologetically, as Arthur chuckled warmly, his chest vibrating against Matthew's back.

"But can I at least top Alfred?" Matthew whined, this time turning beseeching eyes at Arthur.

Alfred, knowing full well Arthur would cave in after one look into those swirling eyes of blue and purple, pinched the inside of Matthew's thigh to get his attention. "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request." He said smugly.

"Ye should thank heaven that we won't leave ye in the bilge to rot." Arthur said sternly, running teasing fingers down Matthew's chest and tweaking his nipples playfully. "But a treasure as lovely as ye self doesn't deserve such harshness." He said, huskily. "Was gonna keep you for ransom but now I think I'll keep ye for me self. Best treasure in all the seven seas." Arthur whispered before Matthew twisted his head around and pressed his lips insistently against the other man's.

Pulling up the other nation more firmly and shifting him to face him, Arthur made Matthew straddle him before not so gently grasping his pale blond hair and tugging back, eliciting a gasp from the boy.

Behind Matthew, Alfred was already tugging down the blond's pants—revealing that the other wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Oh, that's just hot." The American mumbled, blue eyes intent, behind his steel-rimmed glasses, on the snow-white expanse of vital region he was (re)discovering.

"Get on with it, git." Arthur snapped, pulling away from a panting, open-mouthed Canadian to glare at the other blond.

"Yeah, yeah, Artie." Alfred rolled his eyes. "You'll get to dock your vessel soon enough, Cap'n."

In between them, Matthew shuddered, shoulder blades squeezing together. Arthur, remembering that, once again, he had an armful of pliant, warm Canadian, went back to task, slipping his tongue past welcoming lips and running against the ridges and gums of the other's mouth, plundering as any good pirate knew how.

And he was a damn good pirate.

* * *

And...this is the part where I realize I'm about to write a couple hundred to a thousand words of smut and I freak out. So, yes, I may have promised glorious, threesome-y sex in this part...but then I got tied up with some vague plot and such...and well, the next part will be hot. ...If I can write proper smut. Like, good, hot, proper smut. -determined face- If I could just show you guys the writhing, sweaty mass of boy sex in my brain right now, it'd be awesome. Instead, I'm gonna have to put it to word...and hope it works. :|

Anyways, yes, Canada had pirates. But, headcannon says that Matthew didn't get to take part because Arthur wouldn't let him and he was really just a little boy in appearance. Alfred got too, but he didn't ask so much as he just did. Arthur, of course, was happily playing gentleman and conquerer to play pirate.

Also, I've put up a poll for those who don't know yet. I want to get back onto my USCanada horse, but I haven't felt so inspired later. This fic is supposed to ease me back in. The poll results will tell me what stories to focus more on updating and I've only put up the stories I hope to update.

Also, yes, Arthur is BFFs with Davy Jones. Yes, I did use pirate ghosts to make my plot work. What? Did you really think any of these three would settle for just floating about in a pirate ship? Nah, its either all or nothing, baby~

So, yes, cutting this increasingly long note short, the next (and final) part will be up soon. I'm now on break so (hopefully) I can update stuff and finish this.

Yes, and sorry to any reader from Nunavut. It is Matthew's tush. ...because its big...like Matthew's tush. Headcannon says Matthew has a huge ass (-shot-). Ahaha, what would his other body parts be? (I guess I wonder the same for Al and Arthur.)

Good? Bad? Or should I walk the plank? XD


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and for following this silly little fic of mine! I know it was a pretty low blow to leave you guys hanging, but...please accept this chapter. ;)

Warnings: THREESOME SMUT, BAD THREESOME SMUT, language, fail, OOCness, rapidly diminishing use of pirate lingo

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

* * *

"Um, yeah, do you think you could stop hogging Matt now?" Alfred asked flatly, sitting back on his haunches as Arthur, for lack of a better word, devoured Matthew's mouth. A pout already playing on his lips, the American nation was ready to punch Arthur in the nose and save Matthew from his fire-breathing eyebrows and get his reward (kissing with grateful groping, of course).

However, Alfred's attention gravitated back to Matthew's ass—which, Alfred must emphasis, was a _fantastic_ example of an ass—which was just _there_, pale and round with little dimples right where thigh met tush, swaying slightly as its owner pushed up on his knees to better kiss Arthur (who's arms were wrapped tightly around the Canadian's waist).

"Well, hello there." Alfred mumbled, a faintly evil smirk spreading across his face. Scooting forward, the blond pressed up against his near twin's back to nip at his earlobe, before twisting around so that he was next to the pair. Rolling his eyes at the two who were far more interested in each other, the blond leaned close and whispered, "Don't mind me."

And then, with two fingers walking down the curve of Matthew's spine, he made his way to the round curve of the other's bottom, his middle finger quickly seeking out that tiny pucker. Almost boredly, he traces the outside, his bright blue eyes watching his brother's expression keenly, picking out the way Matthew's shoulders stiffen before relaxing.

When Matthew pulls away from Arthur—both their lips spit-slick and bruised red—and just quirks one pale blond eyebrow at Alfred, the American grins and, without warning, breeches the outer ring of muscle with his finger and pushes it all the way in.

Matthew inhales sharply, eyelashes fluttering, his back arching as his chest presses against Arthur's.

"Gonna fuck me dry, Al?" He whispers, only half of his teasing smile visible due to his face being buried against his former guardian's shirt.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Alfred responds promptly, equally teasing. "You little slut."

Arthur rolls his eyes and leans over to the side, eyes rolling heavenward at their antics as he seeks out something just beyond his reach on the floor. Soon, he triumphantly brings up a vial. "Scented oil." He explains when the other two blonds just stare at him.

"How old school." Alfred snorts as Matthew laughs a little breathlessly.

Muttering something about "rude little shites" and "ingrates with no sense of respect for their elders", the former empire pulls out the cork of the vial with his teeth and proceeds to dump its contents onto Matthew's backsides, letting the amber colored, rose-smelling liquid sluice down snowy skin, following the curve and dribbling into the blond's crack.

"We'll get the sheets dirty." Matthew points out, his face vaguely fretful, squirming and spreading his legs further apart as the liquid drips down his scrotum.

"Wasn't planning on keeping them clean, love." Arthur chuckles, hands settling on Matthew's waist as he pulls the nation up closer to him, and giving Alfred a better angle to prepare Matthew.

Alfred, withdrawing his finger and spreading the oil around Matthew's hole, chips in his two cents. "You choose the weirdest times to be all prim and proper and shit, Mattie."

When Matthew huffs and opens his mouth to retort, Arthur silences any words by sticking two fingers into his mouth and ordering, "Suck wench."

Grudgingly (though not really), the Canadian obediently sets to work, lips pursed around the fingers, his tongue flickering over the pads of each.

Alfred, for his part, adds another finger and cheerfully begins to scissor them, doing his best to stretch Matthew (while trying to find that one awesome spot).

His fingertips brush against the spongy area and Matthew gasps, bucking, and accidentally bites down on Arthur's fingers.

"Found it." Alfred chirps smugly as Arthur half-swears with a yelp, yanking his fingers out of Matthew's mouth, leaving a thin trail of saliva in his wake.

"I'm so sorry, Art—_oooh._" Matthew's apology is cut off when Alfred adds another finger and mercilessly pump them in and out of the other, brushing against his prostrate with each motion. The wavy-haired blond moans, rocking back against Alfred's fingers, meeting the superpower for each thrust.

"Look at you. Practically sucking in my fingers…Such a little greedy slut, our Mattie." Alfred coos, eyes hooded as he watches his brother bounce, his rear and thighs trembling, as the superpower continues to finger fuck him, his fingers curling and pressing and twisting.

"But he's our little slut." Arthur murmurs, green eyes downright predatory as he reaches down to grip Matthew's erection, the organ dark and flushed with precum beading at the tip.

Matthew is panting now, nails digging into Arthur's biceps when the Englishman begins to pump him leisurely, smearing the dribbling precum around the head of his cock with his thumb. "You…fuckers…" He breathes out noisily. "Let…me…cum…or I swear on Pierre Elliot Trudeau's soul…I'll—"

"You'll what?" Alfred challenges, blue eyes electric as he nudges against the other's prostrate _hard_.

"_Ostie de sacrament de __câlice de crisse_!" Matthew half-snarls, half-sobs, dragging his nails down Arthur's arm, tearing the thin cotton as he bucks and scrambles for purchase against the sudden thrum of pleasure. He climaxes, hard, accidentally tearing off his former guardian's sleeve as his head jerks forward, his hair shielding his face.

(Alfred almost shouts "Thar he blows" but he knows Matthew will not hesitate to castrate him so he barely manages to keep quiet.)

"I rather liked this shirt." Arthur said quietly as Matthew huffed, collapsing bonelessly against the sandy-haired man, trying to collect himself from the orgasm.

"I'll buy you a new one, Artie." Alfred said brightly, pulling out his damp fingers from Matthew's hole slowly and then giving his brother a sharp slap on his backside.

"We're in a recession, git. I'll just mend it."

Alfred rolled his eyes and, then, proceeded to deliver another stinging slap to Matthew's rear.

Matthew gave a muffled curse and slowly sat up, looking over his shoulder at Alfred. "What?" He grit out, a little miffed at the spanking.

(Fuck Alfred. A few more years of nationhood and suddenly the fatass thought he could just spank anyone he so chose.)

"Up and at 'em, Mattie." The blond had a huge smile on his face. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard, your economy is gonna feel it."

"Like you don't already do that." Matthew hissed under his breath, violet eyes narrowed, before continuing in a louder, more plaintive voice. "Arthur, Alfred has fucked me (over) since I was younger more times than I can count. Tell him to leave me alone." And, with that, Matthew, lower lip sticking out, turned his pleading gaze at Arthur.

"Alfred, stop bothering Matthew." The Brit scolded, already rubbing the Canadian's back comfortingly. "Besides, you aren't going first. I am."

"What!"

"My ship, my rules." Arthur said imperiously with a smirk.

Matthew snickered as Alfred sulked.

"You can always walk the plank, Al." The violet-eyed nation offered, turning around in Arthur's lap to face his brother.

Alfred glared at him. "Fine. But don't think I'm just gonna sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you diddle Mattie."

"Aw, was Al feeling left out?" Matthew tilted his head coquettishly, moving forward on his hands and knees. With an innocent smile, the blond reached over and began to tug down the other's breeches, intent on uncovering the blond's hard prick that was yearning to be free. Watching the member bob after it was liberated, Matthew deliberately licked his lips and looked up at the other through nearly translucent eyelashes. "Want me to take care of this, bro?" He asked, idly flicking the thick, painfully stiff organ with a fingernail.

"Oh fuck yes please." Alfred babbled as laughing indigo eyes regarded him from over the rim of his glasses.

With a quiet hum, Matthew leaned down and gave the other's cock an experimental lick, laving a stripe up the shaft. Then, tilting his head to the side, he began to lick kittenishly at the frenulum.

"Oh Matt, you bastard, don't tease." Alfred whined, bucking his hips, trying to encourage the other blond to take him all the way.

"Just one more thing." Arthur cut in, reaching forward and snatching Matthew's glasses that were perched on the very tip of his nose. "Can't have these breaking on us now." He said, placing them on the floor. Then, leaning forward again, he pulled Texas off Alfred's face, gently stroking the other's temple as he pulled back.

Matthew, who saw the way Alfred blushed at the contact, hid his smile.

For all the problems and pains between the two, there was a quiet sort of affection. Despite how they often went at it like cats and dogs, Matthew had walked in enough on the two of them curled together in bed to know that they cared about each other. Perhaps, had things been different, they wouldn't need him to be that common interest, that one reason why Arthur didn't just walk out after another slur against his cooking or why Alfred didn't just quietly put up with all the snide comments.

They didn't love each other but they loved him. And because they loved him, they had a reason to care for each other.

Because Matthew had refused to choose. He would've sooner lived without either, than to cause one of his dearest loves any grief. The fact that they had come together and try to remember just what had brought them so close all those centuries before—before Arthur won Matthew, before Matthew and Alfred even met—had been more than enough.

Kissing the head of Alfred's cock, Matthew decided to show the other some mercy and, without much fanfare, took his penis into his mouth and began to suck, bringing one hand up to fondle his balls even as he drags his teeth over the other's foreskin.

"Oh my stars and stripes." Alfred mumbles, humping his hips and reaching down to push back Matthew's hair, head lolling back with a groan when violet eyes flick up to watch him as those devious lips—wrapped tight around his dick—purse and slide up. Teeth lightly graze his length and Alfred shudders, tangling his fingers in Matthew's curling hair.

Arthur, on his end, is enraptured in the display, his hands frozen on the backs of Matthew's thighs. When Alfred groans, eyes screwing shut, and Matthew slurps messily as he releases Alfred's dick, the Englishman suddenly realizes that, why be a voyeur when you can be apart of the show?

And, quickly undoing his pants and shoving them down far enough that his prick is free, he grips Matthew's thighs and spreads them apart, taking immense pleasure in the way Matthew whimpers when he forces his legs open wider, his nails digging grooves into the other's pale skin. With a wicked smirk, the Englishman grips the other harder and, drags the nation back, pulling him down onto his cock without warning.

Matthew howls.

And Arthur would be a bloody liar if he said that the noise didn't shoot straight into his groin.

Alfred looks torn between looking impressed at the other's audacity and jealous at the fact that Arthur received such a reaction.

Matthew is shaking, his anus clenching around Arthur's cock. "_Crisse._" He mumbles, face pressed against the mattress. "Arthur…_tu es un vrai salaud._" The blond hisses, shifting.

"Pirate." Arthur says with a small shrug, as though that explains everything. He also knows enough French to realize Matthew is insulting him.

Frankly, the boy has called him much worse in the past.

But, the Englishman waits—gentleman that he is—for Matthew to adjust to the sudden British invasion, soothingly massaging the other's hips with his thumbs.

"That's a good lad." He purrs, already reaching around to feel the nation's renewed arousal. "My sweet boy…my darling boy…"

Alfred quietly reaches for Matthew's hands, gently loosening his fingers from their vice-like grip of the sheets.

Feeling warm (not just from his re-arousal) and worshipped as the two pet him and coo endearments, the blond relaxes and practically sighs when Arthur gently pulls out and pushes back in, eventually building up to a steady, slow rhythm, making little noises and sighs of contentment.

Alfred, already feeling a little forgotten, bops Matthew on the nose with his ignored erection and gives his brother a fairly hopeful smile.

Matthew rolls his eyes and pushes up off his elbows. Arthur shifts back and brings Matthew with him, so that the other's lean legs hang off his bent legs. Alfred scoots forward and, kissing Matthew's cheeks and lips, takes his brother's erection in hand.

"Got any more of that oil, Arthur?" Alfred asks, voice husky, not breaking eye contact with Matthew, who continues to ride Arthur, the muscles of his thighs straining as he lifts himself up until barely the head remains inside and then shoves back down, gasping "ah ah ah" every so often.

"Floor." Arthur mutters, forehead pressed against the back of Matthew's neck, sweat dripping down his temple as he focuses on the way the younger nation moves against him, his fingers digging into the other's hips, leaving the early stains of bruises. "Cor blimey." He whispered, lips moving against the other's skin.

Alfred retrieves another vial and, after opening it and throwing the cork somewhere behind him, pours some into his hand and takes Matthew in hand again. Then, pouring the rest on his own dick, Alfred begins to pump Matthew with sure, firm tugs.

Matthew follows suit and soon the two are moving in unison, hands stroking each other as the males kiss, tongues battling and teeth nipping.

"You're so gorgeous." Alfred murmurs against Matthew's lips.

"And brilliant." Arthur adds.

"Nice."

"Valiant."

"Just really fucking kickass." The American chuckles, breath coming a little faster now, his movements speeding up.

Matthew is bouncing back against Arthur, hips rising and falling faster and faster, his hand moving erratically up and down Alfred's shaft. Occasionally, his fingers brush the other's balls but soon all semblance of order is gone.

Alfred pushes closer to Matthew, pulling the other in a desperate kiss, grinding against his brother and nearly sobbing in relief when their erections slide against each other, the scent of roses cloying. Matthew wraps his arms around the other blond's broad shoulders and digs his nails into his back, leaving angry red indentations as Arthur begins to thrust harder, stabbing his prostrate with each motion.

"So…bloody…close…" Arthur hisses, hips snapping forward as Alfred forces Matthew down and pins him so his rear is flush against Arthur's pelvis.

Matthew wails, his orgasm tearing through him, throwing his head back as his ass clenches around Arthur, milking the other's erection. Alfred grunts when he comes, nose brushing against Matthew's collarbone, feeling the sweat against the other's smooth skin. Arthur, muttering some language neither North American knows, rides out his orgasm, shuddering, even as the combined weight of the exhausted blonds fall on top of him.

Alfred is the first to move. He falls back onto his elbows before collapsing onto his back, groaning, one leg bent at the knee and the other thrown in front of him. Matthew gingerly tries to lift himself up, but, legs quivering, fails and it falls on Arthur to gently lie them both down on their sides and slip out of the blond.

"That was awesome." Alfred pants.

"Aye." Arthur grins, stroking Matthew's side and bringing his hand behind him, flirting with the edge of the other's ultra-sensitive pucker, feeling the semen dripping sluggishly out.

Matthew just says "_oh_" as the Englishman dips his fingers into the still twitching orifice and teases out some of the viscous fluid. He squirms pleasantly, a dark red blush appearing across his shoulder blades.

"Someone's getting hard again." Alfred notes with a smirk.

"Well, its hard not to when _someone_ has their fingers up your ass." Matthew snarks, despite the equally rosy flush to his face.

"Or you're just a wanton little slag." Arthur adds, voice darkly sensual as he gently bites the knob at the top of Matthew's spine, his accent more reminiscent of a common man's drawl. "How about it, wench, are ye ready?"

* * *

...And there's still one more part...

-hides under blanket-


	4. Chapter 4

Pairing: US/CAN/UK

Warnings: previous warnings apply

Disclaimer: Thankfully for you, I don't own Hetalia

* * *

"Back off, Artie." Alfred scowled, throwing an arm around Matthew's relaxed body and pulling the other nation closer. "Its my turn."

"Can't I have a break?" Matthew whined, squirming against Alfred's hold.

Arthur, now unbuttoning the blond's billowy shirt, pulling the damp fabric away from his sweaty skin. "If I can go another round, so can you lad."

"You're not going another round!" The superpower snapped. His hand came possessively down on Matthew's backside. "Mine."

Matthew, a frown already in place, bit the other's collar harshly, nearly breaking skin. "Hoser." He hissed.

"Matt, you know biting only makes me hornier." Alfred chided, slipping his fingers into Matthew's loosened hole. "I think you're good to go."

"You're lucky I love you both." Matthew grumbled, rolling onto his back and pulling Alfred with him, his legs spreading automatically so the older nation could kneel in between them.

Smiling brightly, Alfred pushed forward, nudging the tip of his cock at Matthew's entrance. Shifting the other's legs onto his shoulders, the blond asked, "Ready bro?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Because this is an appropriate time to invoke family ties."

"Shut up, _dad._"

Matthew giggled. "Or would you prefer mom?"

"Cheeky bastards." The English nation grumbled, reaching over and tweaking the Canadian's errant curl before twisting it around his finger.

"Nnngh…" Matthew moaned, arching his back off the mattress at the other's ministrations.

Alfred, wearing a devious smirk, took the opportunity to enter the other nation, gasping as he was enveloped by the other's damp heat. Chancing a glance at Matthew, the blond drank in the sight of the other's flushed face and he leaned down, licking at Matthew's lower lip that was being bitten to a dark shade of crimson. Then, coaxing the other's mouth open, Alfred slipped his tongue alongside Matthew's, twisting around the other and mapping out the interior. Pulling back only briefly for needed breath, the two nations continued to kiss, stopping only for a stray moan or nip or air.

Arthur was content to watch, leisurely playing with Matthew's curl and enjoying the sight of his former colonies moving against each other slowly, their chests pressed together, Matthew's cock weeping and trapped between the two nations, and their bodies moving in unison, the concept of borders or lines or space forgotten in their intimate dance. Alfred took his time, building up to a steady, sure pace, moving slowly to drag out their completion. Matthew, golden curls smeared across his cheeks, clung to Alfred's shoulders, his knees nearly at his own shoulders, body threatened to be bent in half.

Matthew came first, a half-choked little cry, and his semen splattering against his and Alfred's stomach. With a sigh, his right leg slipped off Alfred's shoulder and his eyes shut as he panted softly. Alfred, on the other hand, screwed his eyes shut and, with one large hand gripping the other's thigh, spread the nation's legs further and began to speed up, his thrusts becoming more erratic. Hissing "fuck", the North American nation surged forward, his second climax tearing through his body. Feeling his own body go limp, the superpower fell forward, barely managing to keep his full weight off Matthew by planting his hand next to the other's head and catching himself.

Arthur, with a fond smile, gently rearranged the two so that they were lying side-by-side, curled around each other like dozing puppies.

"Thanks Artie." Alfred slurred sleepily, groping for the bed sheet. "Lets DP Mattie tomorrow."

"I'm going to burn down your White House again." Matthew retorted, struggling to glare viciously at the other. "And you'll cry like a baby again."

"That's enough you two." Arthur rolled his eyes, pulling a sheet over the three of them as he snuggled against Matthew's back.

* * *

The next morning, Arthur awoke as Matthew stirred against him, looking over his shoulder at the Englishman with a sleepy smile.

"Mornin'." He murmured, long lashes shielding his violet eyes.

"Morning to you, love." Arthur responded, voice still thick with sleep. At some point during the night, his arm had wrapped around the other's waist and he tightened his grip. "How do you feel?"

"Pleasantly sore." Matthew laughed faintly, shifting against Arthur, his rear brushing against the other's morning erection. "I think I know how you feel."

"Can't blame me, poppet. Waking up to a handsome man is enough to get anyone randy."

Matthew snickered, pushing back against the other more firmly. Arthur retaliated by peppering kisses down the other's neck, purring in approval when the other tilted his head to allow greater access. Sucking hard at the junction of neck and shoulder, Arthur reached for Matthew's prick, stroking the rising organ with deft fingers, just barely making out the beginnings of a fetching pink flush on the blond's face.

Matthew, reaching back, grabbed hold of choppy sandy-colored hair and angled the other's face so he could litter kisses along his jaw line.

When the nation's whispered noises turned more desperate, Arthur chuckled, ripping the sheet off themselves so he could see more of Matthew, his green eyes immediately drawn to the other's inviting backside. Letting go of Matthew's erection (since his other arm was being used to prop himself up), the former pirate teased his entrance and, very seriously, started to ask if Matthew needed more preparation.

However, Matthew huffed and interrupted the half-formed question by thrusting his hips back and snapping, "Less talking."

"Ye asked for it, wench."

"I really don't understand this obsession in calling me—_ahhh_!" Matthew whined at the sting of being entered so abruptly.

"Less talking." Arthur parroted, smirk teasing as he lifted his leg over the other's hip and nudged Matthew's leg over as well. Matthew's mouth opened in a breathy moan as the angle of the thrusts changed and deepened and his hands grasped at the sheets as Arthur pushed against his prostrate every other thrust, his body thrumming with pleasure.

It was slow sex, both nations still caught in the dregs of sleep and warm from the covers and the yolky sunshine dripping through the single window and spilling across the room.

Arthur hummed a soothing tune, one that Matthew vaguely remembered to be an old English drinking song and the recognition brought a soft smile to his face.

"Thanks for starting without me." A petulant voice rang out and Matthew opened his eyes to see Alfred pouting at them, his blue eyes peering over the curve of the pillow he had buried his face into. "Maybe I wanted a little morning delight."

"Wait your turn." Arthur scolded. "Never could share, could he?" He whispered into Matthew's ear, earning a snicker.

"Heard that." Alfred sulked. "No one loves me."

"Get used to it." Came the callous response and Matthew reached back to deliver a sharp pinch to his former guardian's hip, though Arthur didn't pause in his measure, methodical thrusts.

Then, looking back at Alfred, the blond grabbed his neighbor's wrist and dragged him over, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around the superpower's shoulders. "I'll let you chain me up later." He promised.

"Will you wear the barmaid's dress we brought?"

"…You brought _what_?"

* * *

Hours after they had fallen asleep after their morning romp, Arthur and Alfred woke up again, eventually realizing that they were missing someone.

"He's the second largest country!" Arthur swore, scrambling out of bed. "And we're on a boat—"

"Motherfucker." Alfred snickered, expression turning sheepish when Arthur glared at him.

"He was right here!"

"Are you sure he's still not?" The superpower asked, pulling out his breeches, sans boxers, and stretching.

Pausing, Arthur looked very hard at the rumpled and filthy sheets. "He'd have thrown something at us by now." The Englishman said slowly. "Maybe he's in the galley?"

"Maybe he's making pancakes!" Alfred said excitedly, rushing towards the door and throwing it open—

—before promptly slamming it shut and pressing back against it, blue eyes wide and terrified as he shrieked, "Ghosts with swords!"

Arthur's left eye twitched and he scowled, eyebrows knitting together. "Git." He scolded, striding forward and dragging the trembling superpower away from the heavy door. With a huff, he opened the door and stepped out.

And came face to face with a mob of sword-wielding ghosts.

"What the bloody fuck is this?" He bellowed. "Matthew Williams get your arse out here now!"

"Yes Arthur?" A voice called sweetly and Matthew appeared, his blond hair peeking over the railing of the quarterdeck.

"Don't 'yes Arthur' me." The Brit spat out. "Explain yourself and don't forget, you're not too old for a lashing, boy."

When Matthew finally made his way down to the nations, he was smiling innocently.

Both Arthur and Alfred stared at the quiet northern nation who was now dressed in a flamboyant waistcoat and tight black breeches. Arthur's enormous black tricorn was perched on his head, the white feather trailing down the side. At his side was a gleaming rapier.

"What is this?" Arthur inquired as Alfred whimpered, looking around at the floating swords.

Matthew's smile widened and turned sly for the briefest second before his kind disposition reappeared. "Mutiny." He answered simply.

Arthur and Alfred looked equally flabbergasted.

"Did you know these ghosts are all Canadian?" the blond explained brightly. "Take them below deck." He added before turning on his heel and walking away, calling out, "Not suited for a pirate's life, my ass!"

"Can he do that?" Alfred asked, poking Arthur. "Hey, hey, Artie! I said, can he—are you _crying_?"

"I am so proud." Arthur sniffled, paying no mind to Alfred who shrieked when one of the ghosts prodded him with the broad side of his sword. "He never fails to exceed my expectations unlike a certain _someone_." He said snidely, giving Alfred a pointed look.

"…We never had a chance to grow up normal, did we?"

* * *

"And you were worried about Alfred and Arthur." President Obama said casually, staring right at the Canadian prime minister.

"They're in Spanish waters. Lets lobby the government." Prime Minister Harper suggested, torn between deciding on a punishment for his nation and standing up, laughing victoriously, and shouting, "What now bitches?" followed by "How do you like Canada now, _eh_?" and then topped with a dramatic exit.

But that might be a bit over the top…and Matthew might start to think it was okay to hijack pirate ships and joyride around Europe.

"Because Spain will really give us permission once we tell him his former naval rival in trapped in his territory." Prime Minister Cameron said, rather snippily.

(When Matthew had shyly called Spain to ask for permission to drop anchor in his waters, the cheerful nation said Matthew could stay as long as he wanted—grinning evilly when he heard Arthur and Alfred's shouted curses in the background.)

"Well, then it seems our hands are tied." Prime Minister Harper sighed, his expression unapologetic. "I'll be sure to give Matthew a strongly worded lecture when he returns."

The American President and British Prime Minister just stared at him.

* * *

Haha, so here's my rushed final chapter of my first ever threesome fic. If you readers ever wanted to know what I think about, now you know. My thoughts are filled with US/CAN/UK sex. Always.

Thank you for reading, following along, and leaving such nice reviews. Oh, and for putting up with this smutty nonsense. XD


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